the name game.

As you already know (if you read this blog), we did not have a name for our baby girl. We tried thousands of times throughout the pregnancy to come up with a name, but nothing really stuck. For some reason, we really wanted to meet our baby girl first and then see what name suited her best. We had several names that we kept coming back to, so we kept those in mind for after she was born. During my labor at the hospital, we looked over a list of names that my mother-in-law came up with, we searched my iPhone Baby Namer app, and we threw out some new names that we had yet to discuss. We still remained undecided. In the chaos and commotion immediately following her arrival, the respiratory therapist let me hold our baby girl for a couple of minutes before they whisked her away to the NICU. Taylor and I both looked at each other and simultaneously said, "Emma Katherine." We think it suits her well. My sister sent me this video from one of the Friends episodes. This really mimicked how our "name game" went down at the hospital, except I didn't steal her name from a friend. (Although, the girl in the room next door to mine at the hospital also named her baby girl Emma. Emma Mae I think.) We, too, called our daughter "baby girl" for most of the pregnancy. Too funny that we chose the name Emma. Katherine is my middle name. Emma has always been a classic and a favorite for me and my hubby. And so our sweet girl became Emma Kate.

welcome to the world, baby girl.

Our sweet baby girl has arrived! Emma Katherine Rice was welcomed into this world after a swift and easy labor (in comparison to my first) at 4:58pm on October 2, 2010 weighing 8 pounds, 10 ounces and 20 1/2 inches long.

For documentation's sake, here is Emma Kate's birth story. I had an ultrasound at my appointment on September 22nd to determine Emma Kate's size. I was 36 weeks, 6 days and she was already estimated to be 6 pounds, 13 ounces. I grow some big babies! Due to my trouble delivering P (he was 8 pounds, 4 ounces), the doctor decided that it was best if they induce me at 38 weeks, 4 days. I was terrified of being induced, mostly afraid of complications or the possibility of a c-section. I tried to remain calm and trust that my doctor knew what was best, but I still hoped and prayed that I would go into labor on my own. My mom and I had a busy day on Friday, the day before I went into labor. Bought pansies for my flower garden, had my brows waxed, went to Kennesaw to pick up the glider for the nursery, dropped off the Yukon for a complete detailing, and went out to dinner for my dad's birthday. I had lots of Braxton Hicks throughout the day, but nothing too serious. At dinner, we ordered nachos as an appetizer, which contained a TON of jalapenos. Taylor joked with the waiter that the nachos may put me in labor, and if they did, he would make sure to tell all of his friends that McGuire's nachos will induce labor. The waiter joked back that we would get a year's worth of free meals if it worked. (We have yet to redeem our prize....I'll add that to my "to do" list.) I woke up at 4am the next morning (October 2nd) with stronger than normal contractions, nothing painful, but enough to keep me from going back to sleep. By 6am, I told Taylor that I thought we would have our baby girl in our arms by that evening. He never believed me. He didn't believe me until we got to the hospital and I got checked for dilation....

I was able to fall asleep for a couple of hours that morning and woke up again around 9am. By this time, my contractions were regular and strong, still not too painful, but coming consistently every 3 or 4 minutes. We got showers. I packed the rest of my hospital bag and added a few things to Emma Kate's bag. (Yes, I still was not packed.) I did a load of laundry, hung pictures up in the nursery, and cleaned the downstairs of the house. (Crazy, huh?) Taylor still did not believe that I was in labor, even though I insisted that this was "it". I put a call into the midwife around 10am to see when I should go in to the hospital. The midwife never called me back. We called Taylor's parents to come get P. We took a walk in the neighborhood and I called Cheryl, a family friend and newly retired OB. (She actually delivered Phoenix.) I told her about my contractions, duration, frequency, etc. She told me not to wait on the midwife to call me back. Her exact words were, "You need to go on to the hospital. This is your second baby. Go on to the hospital now." With that response, I started to get a little panicky. Could I really have this baby soon? We loaded up the car, realized that we were out of gas and hadn't had lunch, so we made those things our priority. By this time, the contractions were stronger. Still not too painful, but I was having to breathe through them. We stopped at McDonald's. I ate a cheeseburger happy meal. (Nice, huh?) We stopped to get gas then we headed to the hospital. As we pulled into the hospital parking lot, the midwife finally returned my call. In between pauses for contractions, I told her about my labor thus far and made her promise that if I went inside the hospital that they would not send me home. (I had a LONG labor with P. I wanted to have this baby. Now.) She claimed that by listening to me on the phone, I was definitely in labor and they would not be sending me home. She claimed that I would be around 3 cm dilated and that I would deliver our baby girl no later than 10pm that same day. Taylor still did not believe that I was really in labor. Part of me doubted it, too. Contractions were consistent and strong, but I was managing them too well to be dilated to 3cm.

We checked in to the hospital around 12:30pm. I also told the nurses that I did not want to be sent home. Apparently, by looking at me, they, too, decided that I was definitely in real labor. Dr. McIntosh came in to check me around 1pm. Dilated to 4cm! Taylor was so excited that he gave fist bumps to the doctor. Hilarious! We definitely weren't going home. Pitocin was started. My nurse, who spoke zero English, supposedly called for my epidural. Again, this was around 1pm. Pitocin was bumped up around 3pm. Contractions were really intense. Still no sign of epidural lady. Felt like I needed to push around 3:30pm. Made Taylor help me into the bathroom. Sat on the toilet and had to push. Could not help myself. Screamed at Taylor to go get the nurse. No. Strike that. "Go get Dr. M. Tell her I want a new nurse. Tell her I want my epidural!" I think those were my exact words. Dr. M came quickly. Told me that I moved fast and that I would probably be too close to completely dilated to get an epidural. You've got to be kidding me??!!?? Was checked and found to be at 8 1/2cm, almost 9. Dr. M was extremely nice and hurried the anesthesiologist our way for my epidural. By 4pm, I was much more relaxed, but still feeling everything on my right side. I've heard of this happening, but never quite understood it. It was interesting. At least I only felt half of my contractions. Midwife took over on-call duty. She came in. Introduced herself. She pulled up a chair next to Taylor. Drank a coke. Sent a few text messages. Told us her life story. And told me to let her know when I felt the urge to push. She was really fun and made me much more relaxed for the quasi-natural birth I was about to experience. I started pushing at 4:30pm, and Emma Kate was born at 4:58pm. I experienced very little pain and thoroughly enjoyed this labor. Apparently Emma Kate was really ready to meet her mama and daddy. She breathed prematurely in the birth canal and experienced lots of breathing problems immediately after she was born. She was blue and floppy for a minute or so. The nurses suctioned her well, but she just swallowed too much fluid. The respiratory therapists were paged and arrived in our room within 7 minutes of her birth. They suctioned her, gave her oxygen, and after about 15 minutes, decided that she needed to go to the NICU for observation and further monitoring. After crying hysterically the entire time she was being worked on, one of the respiratory therapists handed her to me and said, "Hold her for a minute. She's your baby. You deserve to hold her."

The NICU monitored baby Emma that evening. Taylor and I were allowed to see her, but we were not allowed to hold her. I was devastated. After carrying her for nine months, I wanted nothing more than to hold my sweet girl. At 11pm, the doctors decided to admit our baby girl because she was still experiencing rapid breathing and her oxygen saturation was still intermittently dipping. They called for a chest x-ray to make sure there was no other underlying cause for her breathing problems. We were told that we could not go visit her until they called us. My nurse came in our room at 2am the next morning to tell me that the chest x-ray came back fine and that I was allowed to go see her. Taylor was asleep, but I just had to see my baby girl, so I stumbled down to the NICU. The sweet nurse let me hold her for the first time since she was in the NICU. I immediately fell in love with our sweet girl.

Emma Kate was kept in the NICU for 4 days, mainly because she was started on preventative antibiotics for the possibility of infection, and they wanted to wait for the 3 day cultures to come back clean before they discharged her, Our insurance only allowed me to stay in the hospital as a patient for 2 nights, but I made it clear to the NICU staff and to my nurses that I was not leaving until my baby girl could leave with us. The staff at HMC was incredible and arranged for us to stay in our room, just not as a patient. Kind of like a hotel, I guess. I began pumping colostrum the evening that she was born and brought it up to the NICU at every feeding time....every 3 hours. The NICU team would not feed her by mouth until Day 2 for fear of her aspirating, and even then, they would not let me breastfeed. She received formula along with a syringe full of what little milk/colostrum I was able to pump until Day 3, when the sweet neonatologist allowed me to begin nursing. The NICU nurses and lactation consultant were incredible. They served as my advocate, pushing the doctors to allow me to nurse my daughter. What NICU would not want that for their babies? I still don't understand. I met some incredible nurses during our stay, 3 in particular that were sent by God. Meg was the overnight nurse. She was there 2 of our three nights and kept my mind occupied. We talked about books and babies, beer and boobies. She was incredible. Tammy, the lactation consultant, was awesome. She taught me some great, but rather hilarious, pumping techniques and other techniques to boost my milk supply. I still hear "Press, Compress, Release" every time I nurse EK. And Roquelle. She was another NICU nurse that "tells it like it is". Even though she was rather straight forward, she also helped push the doctors to allow me to breastfeed and helped us get everything in order for our discharge. I will never forget these special people.

I added some of my favorite pictures of Emma Kate's birth and our stay at the hospital. I also included a slide show of all of the pictures. We are so glad to be home with our sweet girl. I thank God that she is healthy and home with us. We are adjusting well and loving every minute of our time together as a family of four.

sky train.

P loves trains. All trains. And the Sky Train at Stone Mountain doesn't disappoint him, either. Guilt set in a couple of weeks ago while dragging our child around the entire state of Georgia looking for a glider for baby girl's nursery, so we decided to add a little bit of fun into our day. We made a slight detour on our way home from Atlanta, around I-285 to Stone Mountain for a couple of hours of fun for our little man. The Sky Train and the Fun Barn was just what P needed.

Considering the fact that Taylor and I are both deathly afraid of heights, I would have to say that we definitely love this kid. We love him so much that we were willing to set our fears aside in order for P to have a little bit of uninhibited fun.


Are you sure this thing is safe?



Here goes nothing....on our way up.



How high are we? Seriously?


Once our knees quit shaking, we wandered around, climbed some boulders, and enjoyed the "Fall-ish" breeze on the top of Stone Mountain. (Where is Fall, by the way? This nine-month pregnant whale would love some 80 degree temps.) My two boys were sweet enough to give me a few brief smiles. Pictures of P are difficult to come by these days. He either gives me a forced, fake grin, while hollering "cheese" at the camera. Or he just looks the other way. These are the best I've got....



We had a great couple of hours at Stone Mountain. I'm just glad we made it safely back down to solid ground.

let the countdown begin.

Four weeks and counting until D-Day. And probably less until baby girl's actual arrival. We are getting so excited! We are putting the finishing touches on her nursery. Just a few more things and we will be ready for her arrival. We've been spending lots of quality time together as a family of three. I'm definitely enjoying every moment with my two sweet boys, smothering each of them with love and attention. Our new bundle of joy is definitely welcomed, but I will always have fond memories of this time together as a family of three. Things are going to change, for sure. But they are definitely changing for the better. I cannot wait to hold our sweet little girl in my arms. Four weeks and counting....

My mom and sister came over this weekend to help with organizing the nursery and washing all of baby girl's sweet tiny little clothes. We spent all morning just going through her closet.


Isn't it so much fun doing infant laundry? Everything is so soft and little and precious. And the scent of baby laundry detergent....I swear I could get high off of that stuff. It makes me want baby girl's arrival to come sooner rather than later. Me, my mom, and my sister literally spent an hour and a half just taking the tags off of all of her stuff. I felt like we were little elves on an assembly line. We separated and sorted and and sorted and separated. We had six loads of laundry once it was all said and done. Do you think she's going to be a tad bit spoiled? I think so. I am so happy to add a little bit of pink to our home decor. We can't wait to meet you baby girl! You are already so loved. It is amazing how much we love someone we've never even met.

swim lessons.

P took a Water Babies class at the beginning of July. Thought it would be a lot of fun for the two of us. A way to beat the heat, bond with my sweet boy, and get P acclimated to the water. Not so much. Turned out to not be one of my grandest ideas. The class turned out to be more like a swimming survival course rather than a fun, relaxed class in which P and I could spend quality time together.

Here is the class description, straight from their website:

For 6weeks-36 months, this course will introduce babies to the water, provide bonding with parents, provide word association with repetition and structure and at the very least they will learn to LOVE the water. Focus is placed on a fun, child-centered environment where games are mixed with education. This course will introduce toddlers to the concept of holding their breath, kicking, and floating.

Wouldn't you be confused when within the first 2 minutes of class they were dunking my son under water without any warning or explanation? And there were no "games mixed with education" in our class. I know that I am a protective mama, but this just really caught me off guard. I was ready to snatch him out of the water and take him home. But I tried to remain calm, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this class would be good for P. And maybe the crying and fear would diminish as the week went on. Nope. It multiplied by a factor of ten each and every day. I think I cried more than P did.

When it came to swimming, P actually did really great. He just screamed the entire time that his head was not under water. Poor little buddy. I'm trying really hard to teach him the importance of following through with things. Trying to teach him not to be a quitter. That is the only reason we even showed up for days two, three, and four of swim lessons. By day 5, Taylor and I both decided that it's not the end of the world to quit some things in life. We just won't be making a habit of it.

Here is P on Day 1, before he even stepped foot in the water. Doesn't he look so eager and excited?


He cried between each exercise, but then pulled himself together right before getting dunked under water. I think that he quickly figured out how to avoid sucking in a mouth and nose full of water. One positive....he at least learned how to hold his breath.


Swimming to the steps.


He would grab the steps and high tail it out of the pool faster than any other kid in his class. But then we couldn't get him back in the pool.


He hated floating on his back. I've never seen my baby fight so hard.


A few of him swimming from the teacher to Taylor. Like I said, he would do it. He just didn't like it. Not one bit.



I really though that I had scarred my child for life by putting him in these swim lessons. He seems okay, though. My friend always tells me that kids are resilient. They really are. He still talks about swim lessons like they were the greatest thing that ever happened to him. But if I mention going back, he immediately panics and locks up. I'll give it a few more years before I try it again. For now, playing in the mushrooms and sitting in a float in our neighborhood pool sounds much more enjoyable for me and my little man.

red, white, and blue due.

I'm due for a lot of things these days. Due for a blog post. Due to have baby girl in only 52 days. Baby furniture is due to arrive any day now. And speaking of due, it's the middle of August and I've yet to post pictures from the 4th of July. I would say that these pics are slightly past due.

We ended of foregoing our trip to the lake for the 4th due to reconstruction from our flood, and instead, headed over to Nash Farms for their annual Independence Day festivities. They had live music, a kids area with inflatables, games, and face painting, and a wagon parade. This overachiever mama got super psyched about the wagon parade and so did our little man. I was pumped about the decorating part. P was stoked about riding in a parade waving a miniature flag and ringing his red, white, and blue cow bell. Poor Taylor got stuck pulling P in the wagon for the super long parade in the grueling heat while hundreds of spectators watched. I snapped pictures and laughed hysterically. It was a lot of fun for all some.

P absolutely loved the fact that we were right behind the drums. Or maybe he was thrilled that we were first. Either way, he was delighted by the little wagon parade.




My little man looks so grown up. Thank goodness I will have a new baby soon to be all sappy and sentimental with. P is a little over his mama's maudlinness. But, he will always be my baby. He just doesn't know it yet.



Yummy homemade root beer. (That I hope was caffeine free, because I drank $10 worth.)




They even had tractor rides. A little slow-paced and hot for this pregnant mama, but P enjoyed himself.



We had a great time celebrating Independence Day at Nash Farms. Granny, Grandpa, and Great Granny joined us for dinner and fireworks. P fell out about ten minutes before the show started and slept right on through the grand finale. I guess all of the day's festivities wore him slap out. A 9:30pm start time doesn't jive well with a two-year old's sleep schedule.

thirty.

I turned the big 3-0 on June 21st. I'll admit, I was scared to death. I've never felt old until I had P. The responsibility of becoming a parent will make you feel old. But having a second baby on the way, I really began to feel old. When family asked me what I wanted for my birthday, my one and only response to everyone was, "another year in my twenties." The week before the big day, I tried my hardest to accept it. I made a comment at work to one of the girls, "well, I guess thirty is just a number." Her response, "yeah, but it's a big number." The sad thing to me is that I can remember thinking coworkers in their thirties were old. I guess that's how my teeny bopper technicians at work view me now. What goes around, comes around, huh? But now that I am a couple of weeks in, I am embracing this new oldness. Old is good.

My hubby went above and beyond to make my thirtieth birthday exceptional. I woke up to a house decorated in old pictures of me and my past and quotes about getting older. He kidnapped me, we dropped P off at Beme's, and headed to our surprise destination, with a mixed tape cd of the best 80's music playing on the car stereo the entire trip. We arrived in Athens, GA. My home away from home. Taylor said, "For your birthday this year, I got you what you wanted. Now let's go relive your twenties." He's the best husband ever.

We ate at my favorite restaurant, The Last Resort, for lunch then headed to our favorite on-campus spot, The Creamery, for a yummy milkshake for desert.


We visited some of my old stomping grounds.



We talked about old times, when it was just the two of us. And we talked about where our lives have taken us thus far. We have come a long way and accomplished some pretty amazing things. After our awesome day in Athens, I slowly began to realize that I'm not just thirty years old. I am thirty years wise.

We arrived home from Athens to find this in our front yard.


My mom is too funny. And she is absolutely the best. I got a kick out of our new yard decorations, especially when I found out that they had been there since 8 am and all of my neighbors had stopped by to check out my mom's creation. I'm sure the Homeowner's Association was called more than once. I loved it.

And to top off the best day ever, Taylor surprised me with a yummy cake lit up like the 4th of July. It took longer to light the candles than to eat the cake.


It was a great thirtieth birthday. Thirty years has taken me this far. I make wiser decisions. I have a fabulous family, two homes, a car that is paid for. And, I have finally figured out what's most important in life. I hope my next thirty years holds just as much greatness as my first thirty.

check-ups.

We've had two check-ups in the past week worth documenting. We finally went for P's two year check-up. Only three months late. He weighed 29 pounds and is 35 inches tall. Fiftieth percentile in weight and almost fiftieth percentile in height. Our pediatricians office doesn't like to give percentiles to the mamas unless there is a problem, so my guesses are based on this difficult-to-read line graph that they print for us at each check-up. He handled the visit very well, considering he usually screams bloody murder the entire time. I think the best thing we did this time is schedule his appointment with the prettiest doctor in the practice. He flirted with her the entire time and giggled when she touched his chest and back with the stethoscope. He had to get two shots, which this mama will never get used to. I think I cry as much as he does. He cried after the shots, but quickly pulled himself together after the nurse gave him an orange lollipop, his favorite. Later he said to me, "Mama, my polka dots hurt." I guess the round band-aids that the nurse put on the injection sites looked like polka dots to him. He has such a creative little mind.

The second check-up was my 25 week OB visit. Baby girl is doing great. My belly is measuring right on track. I had to drink that yucky orange concoction to test for gestational diabetes, which has to contain a full weeks worth of sugar. If I didn't have diabetes before the test, I surely do now. I've gained twelve pounds thus far, which is less than average. With P, I put most of my weight on at the end, so I'm expecting the same with this baby girl. She's kicking and turning somersaults now fairly regularly and I'm loving every minute. Even P got to feel one of her punches the other day. This pregnancy is going well so far. My only complaint is my pelvic pain, but pregnancy yoga and pilates has really helped with that. Only fourteen more weeks!

memorial day.

Here I am blogging about Memorial Day when it's practically the Fourth of July. Better late than never. We spent the weekend at the lake. Just a short getaway in between work shifts. P loves the lake house. He talks about it all.the.time. "Mama, when can we go to the lake? Did that man fix our boat at the lake? I want to go swimming at the lake. Where is my wheel barrow from the lake?" And on and on and on. We love the lake house, too. It's our getaway from reality. While building our lake house, we dreamed of spending summers there and hoped that our children would love it there as much as we do. So far, so good. I just wish we had more time to spend down there.



Throwing rocks at Goat Island.


The boat still lulls him to sleep. Every.single.time. He's such an angel.


We are headed down to the lake again for the Fourth, only this time we'll be roughing it a little. Our heart pine flooring has been ripped out and there are holes in the drywall. Maybe it will feel like camping. More on that later. Happy Fourth of July!

nesting.

I feel like a mama bird creating a nest for her babies. I cannot get enough. Organizing, cleaning, sorting, separating, purging. It keeps me going these days. I'm not quite sure where I'm getting the energy, but it's coming from somewhere. Just in the past two weeks,I we have cleaned out the garage, sealed the garage floor, cleaned out the entire craft room to make room for the nursery, held a garage sale, organized the pantry, refrigerator, and freezer, cleaned out two closets, primed the nursery, painted our twenty-foot foyer, hallway, and up the stairs, and steam cleaned the carpet in four rooms. Whew! It exhausts me just to type it. Of course, I have not done it alone. Taylor, P and my mom have helped a ton, especially with the painting. I have such a wonderful family. Thanks guys :)

I took this picture after Taylor said to me, "Bones, you better take a picture of this, because I'm never doing this again." It is about twenty feet to the ceiling in our foyer. This family is not too fond of heights.


Even P has pitched in. Yesterday he came running up to me and said, "Mama, where's my orange hammer and tape measure and nails?" (I'm not sure where the "nails" part came from. He better not have nails hiding anywhere.) My response, "Why do you need all of that, P?" "Because I've got to build my baby sister a playroom." Too cute. However, I'm not sure if him building a playroom for his baby sister is out of the goodness and kindness of his heart or if he is scared to death to lose his playroom to a new baby. Either way, he seems to be catching on to the idea of a sibling. He'll be a good big brother.


I think that in the back of my mind I'm remembering how dreadfully tired and sore I felt in my pregnancy with P from thirty weeks on. I have to get this nest ready for baby Shoes' arrival. (No, she still doesn't have a name. Any suggestions?)